


Angel

by Anonymous



Category: Persona 5
Genre: Adult/Minor, Anal Fingering, Anal Sex, And Akira Has An Unreasonable Teenage One, In Which Iwai Has A Reasonable Adult Refractory Period, M/M, Multiple Orgasms, Oral Sex, Pet Names, Plot What Plot/Porn Without Plot, Teasing
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-03-02
Updated: 2021-03-02
Packaged: 2021-03-15 12:42:25
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Underage
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,505
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29808576
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/
Summary: Most of their hookups are quick and dirty in the back room at Untouchable.When Iwai gets the chance to take Akira home for the night instead, he makes sure it's worth it.
Relationships: Iwai Munehisa/Kurusu Akira
Comments: 2
Kudos: 38
Collections: Anonymous





	Angel

There are so many good reasons not to get involved with a goddamn high-schooler - moral ones, legal ones, social ones - that Iwai hadn’t even gotten to physical ones. He shouldn’t need to, should’ve stopped himself way way back, but he’s rapidly coming to terms with the simple fact that he wasn’t as young as he used to be.

And goddamn, Akira can _go_.

It’s real late and shaping up to be a long night. Kaoru’s in bed, hopefully, and asleep, hopefully. Iwai’s not worried about having an awkward talk about how Daddy’s got a special friend or whatever the fuck parents tell kids when they’re getting laid, but he does _not_ want to explain the part where said friend is barely older than Kaoru. It’s really too bad, because it means he’s gotta sneak the kid all the way to the bedroom instead of bending him over the back of the couch or pinning him against the wall and taking him then and there. The perils of being a parent. But maybe that’s a good thing, because if he gave in that early, he’d be finished.

Kid makes it to the bedroom with a kind of silent grace that implies he does this a lot. Just another of the many mysteries of Akira Kurusu, but not one to address tonight, because as soon as the bedroom door closes he’s on Iwai, kissing him fast and fierce and clawing at his belt. Iwai takes him by the wrist, trying to slow him down, but it doesn’t do much because he’s so damn nimble and so damn hungry.

“Easy,” he says at last, laying his other hand on the kid’s shoulder. Not pushing, but heavy. “You in some kind of rush or what?”

The kid glares at him. He’s been shooting him looks all damn night, impossible to miss, and here Iwai is telling the cat to take it easy on his mouse. “I’ve waited long enough,” the kid says, chocolate smooth and dark. It just doubles down on Iwai’s determination to make it good for him, give him everything he can, use this time and privacy and bedroom to really make up for all the hurried stolen moments in the stockroom at Untouchable. But shit, the kid doesn’t seem to be on board.

Iwai’s giving it a shot anyway. He takes the kid by the back of the neck, kissing him, and backs him up against the bed. “C’mon, kid,” he says, guiding him down, “you know I’m gonna take care of you. Relax.” This last part, he adds while working his fingers under the kid’s waistband and grabbing his cock, which ironically makes him hiss and stiffen up. Fuck, it’s a pretty sight, the way his eyes suddenly go soft, pink lips parting with a sharp breath, his body arching up into Iwai’s touch. It’s good, it’s very good, and Iwai’s delighted to keep his fingers slow and gentle. His other hand’s a little quicker, taking advantage of the kid’s stunned state to divest him of his uniform jacket and tug at the turtleneck underneath.

He thinks he’s being careful but the kid’s panting, clutching at him, tense all over. Must’ve gotten himself all worked up before they even got here. Of course Iwai recognizes it, and it’s too late to stop now, so instead he pushes the kid the rest of the way down onto his back and shoves the turtleneck up to expose his belly just in time for him to whimper and shudder and arch his back and come all over his own stomach. Iwai hisses between his teeth.

“Look at you,” he says wonderingly. “Goddamn work of art.”

The kid’s looking at him all glassy-eyed now, but it’s not gonna last long. He’s already reaching for Iwai’s arms, squeezing his biceps, mindlessly begging for more. Iwai remembers being sixteen; if he’d been lucky enough to get laid he wouldn’t’ve stopped for anything. So yeah, he knows what he’s in for. He’s just not sure he can keep up.

Akira’s eyes focus, and he pulls Iwai down for a kiss - goddammit, there’s cum smeared all over his shirt now, brat did that on purpose - before releasing him long enough to shimmy out of his pants. He’s still breathing fast but he’s getting back that energy, the recovery that makes Iwai feel like an old geezer when he’s left winded and dazed on the floor in the backroom while Akira’s up and dressed and even helping customers. He’s looking forward to turning the tables.

Iwai pulls his shirt off over his head, uses it to swipe Akira’s stomach clean - well, cleaner, at least - and then leans down over him again. One broad hand on his waist keeps Akira from rising, pins him down long enough for Iwai to swoop down and take his softening dick in his mouth. Akira chokes on his cry, shoves a hand into his mouth and shouts into it, muffled and desperate. He can’t really let loose at Untouchable either, come to think of it, and Iwai makes a note that next time Kaoru’s out of the house, on a sleepover or something, he’d love to hear the kid scream. Suspects it’d take a lot of work to make it happen. Iwai ain’t afraid of work.

Akira’s cock tastes like cum, of course, is still dripping with it, and Iwai lets go long enough to lick the tip clean before sucking it down again. He likes to think he’s pretty good at cocksucking, maybe hasn’t had as much practice as he could’ve but he’s gotten some very enthusiastic compliments. That was a long time ago, but it’s like fucking a bike. Besides, the kid’s so damn sensitive right now that it wouldn’t really matter what was happening to his dick as long as it was hot and wet. Doesn’t mean Iwai’s sloppy, doesn’t mean he’s not gonna take some pride in his craft, dragging his tongue along the underside while he’s got his lips locked around the base. 

It’s working; as Akira gasps and clutches the sheets, his dick swells again in Iwai’s mouth. He keeps going until it’s big enough that he can’t fit it easily, that he’s gotta adjust around it, quiet his gag reflex, shut off the parts of him instinctively trying to protect him from this poison. He does pull off, then, but only to change his technique, employ a little more finesse in the flicking of his tongue. Akira’s looking down at him, dark eyes glinting, mouth open like he wants to say something, so Iwai pauses for a second, the head of his cock resting against his lips.

“You got something to say, kid?” he asks, lifting one eyebrow.

Akira pants. He does, or at least he wants to, but arousal’s thick on him, heavy enough to weight him down. “Fuck me,” he groans, and Iwai laughs.

“Oh, don’t you worry, baby, I’m gonna fuck you senseless.” He hums happily as he lowers his head. That’s what this is for, after all, making sure he can really follow through on the “senseless” part. He figures that after coming twice Akira’ll be all tuckered out, which is why Iwai’s aiming for four. It’s kinda fun to be putting so much effort into a blowjob (and a thorough fingering, in a minute, he’s got plans) that’s not just a means to an end. They don’t get to take their time often. Iwai’s not complaining - some of the best fucking comes in thirty frantic seconds after hours of tense waiting. But it’s goddamn luxurious to spend time really taking somebody apart, watching them fall apart, appreciating the progress from sharp and hungry to desperate and ruined. Especially when it’s someone as infuriating as Akira Kurusawa.

So. One more, and then he’ll get what he’s asking for, almost. It occurs to Iwai to wonder if Akira could come from being fingered alone, without a helping hand or mouth, and Iwai groans at the thought. He yields, a little, just enough to drop one hand to his own crotch and rub the heel against the rough fabric there, where his own cock is complaining about the neglect. It’s almost enough to make him abandon his plans and skip ahead. But ain’t that supposed to be one of the good things about being old? Patience?

He still spends a good minute or two grinding against his own hand, grunting around the cock in his mouth, but it’s too hard to focus and really give Akira the attention he deserves. He gives it up, forcing his hips to go still and redirecting that energy into his lips and his tongue. He can taste Akira throbbing, every pulse burning like a shot of whiskey, sweet and burning and going straight to his head. Or maybe he’s just too focused to breathe. Breathing’s not important.

Akira keens and scrabbles at his close-shorn head, searching for purchase. There’s nothing there, less than half an inch of fuzz, but Iwai gets the hint and bears down, lets the kid push him down, lets him thrust into his mouth and down into the back of his throat and again and again until he seizes up tight, completely silent, not even a breath, and if it wasn’t for the salty-sweet taste of him Iwai might’ve thought something was wrong.

He waits until the kid gasps and loosens up, falling back into the bed, before pulling away. God, he’s so fucking beautiful, it really wasn’t fair. A complete mess, chest heaving, cheeks flushed, sweating and gasping and still shining with his own cum. Beautiful hair mussed, beautiful eyes lidded, beautiful lips parted.

Iwai wipes his mouth on the back of his hand and says, “You’re a fucking angel,” because he can’t think of a good reason not to.

Akira laughed, just a huff. “Anything but.”

Iwai clicks his tongue, hisses sharp between his teeth. “You can still talk? I better step it up.”

They’ve made it this far still partially clothed, but that’s over. It’s almost a shame, considering how sweet Akira looks all disheveled, but he sits up and tosses his glasses aside so he can yank his shirt off over his head. Iwai sits back, working on his own belt but not quite willing to miss the show. Akira’s got an astonishing body, like an artist’s ideal of an athlete, lean muscles and taut skin. Sinewy, Iwai’s mind supplies, and lithe. He’s never really been sure what lithe means. Skinny, but in a fuckable way, or something.

His skin’s covered in scars that Iwai stopped asking about a while ago. They’re bizarre. They’d be bizarre on a guy Iwai’s age, and even stranger on Akira. Claw and bite marks, burns and tears and knife wounds and what Iwai is sure are a couple gunshot wounds. And they’re all faded, like they’re decades old. He’s not even sure what kind of fucked up abuse would leave scars like these, and he was pretty sure he’d never find out. It was when he noticed a new one, a set of gashes on his side like he’d been mauled by a bear, that he stopped hoping for a simple answer, because he was certain there’d been nothing there four days prior and it looked just as old as the rest. But he knew when to stop pushing. Another benefit of maturity.

He scrambles out of his pants with considerably less grace than Akira and stands up to get the lube. When he turns around, he stops for a moment, stricken by the sight. Akira’s on his bed, still breathing hard, completely naked. He’s - he’s beautiful, but there’s something lost about him, something weak. He’s vulnerable, and it catches in Iwai’s throat. What the hell was he _doing_? Fucking a kid, that’s what, an innocent child who didn’t know any better, who Iwai had fucking _defiled._

Then Akira’s eyes focused, like a razorblade against his throat without the glasses to soften them, and he remembered. Akira’d had him by the balls since the first day he walked into the shop. He’d lost his innocence long before Iwai ever got to him, and it’d been replaced by something dark and vivid and sharp. It blazes out of those eyes, searing hot and irresistible, and god Iwai wants a taste.

He chuckles, which is the best he can do to express the enormity of the feelings that spike through him in that single second. Then he gets back into bed.

Akira sits up and yanks him close, arms flung around his shoulders, kissing him so hard Iwai wonders if lips can bruise. He wraps his legs around Iwai’s waist and hoists himself into his lap, hips grinding against him with sweet little whimpers that don’t suit him. Iwai’s not gonna stop him, one hand on the back of the kid’s head and the other at the small of his back, but he can tell he’s trying to wiggle himself into position. “Didn’t I tell you to be patient?” he growls into his ear.

“Fuck me,” Akira demands, rubbing his ass against Iwai’s cock. “Come on.”

“Heh.” It’s an interesting position they’ve got themselves into. He considers it. It’s not what he had in mind, but Akira looks so sweet and his little noises are right in Iwai’s ear. And he can reach the lube, so he does, and snakes one hand behind Akira’s back.

“Don’t worry, angel,” he croons, slipping a slick finger between his cheeks and feeling Akira shiver, “we’ll get there. Trust me, there’s no _way -_ “ and he thrusts for emphasis, and Akira gasps - “I’m letting you outta here without fucking you so hard you’re feeling it for weeks.” He finds Akira’s entrance and teases it, luxuriating in the little ways he feels him tensing up all over. The angle’s gonna be murder on his wrist. “But not yet. The thing is, you’re so goddamn cute when you’re coming on my fingers. So, why don’t you come one more time for me like a good boy, and then you’ll get what you want.”

Akira groans, from one tease or another. “Don’t call me that.”

“Which part?” Iwai grins. “Angel? Cute? Good boy?”

“Any. All of it. Fuck.” He falls forward, leaning heavily against Iwai, and while he’s a little hard to hold upright it makes the angle better for when Iwai slips a finger inside him.

“Well shit,” he says, moving slow, “what should I call you? Baby? Honey? Sweetie?” He brushes against the sweet spot that makes Akira squeeze around him. “Shnookums?”

He knows Akira’s scowling at him. Meanwhile, Akira’s body quivers and twitches, ignoring the outrage that his head wants to convey. It’s how he likes it. Iwai’s developed a theory about it, that the kid likes having something to be pissed about because it lets him focus right up until his body betrays him, makes orgasm less of a wave and more of a whiplash. Plus it’s a hell of a lot of fun, so Iwai keeps spouting increasingly saccharine nicknames as he caresses Akira’s insides.

“Cupcake? Teddy bear? Pumpkin?” He adds a second finger and Akira shudders, but hangs on. “Pookie?”

“Stop,” Akira growls through gritted teeth, so Iwai smirks and starts pumping in and out, slow at first but accelerating every time Akira gasps and clutches at him.

“You oughta learn to ask nicely,” Iwai purrs. He adds, “Angel,” because he’s pretty sure Akira won’t let it slide if he’s capable of doing anything about it. He’s delighted to discover that all he gets is a frustrated whimper and Akira forcing himself down onto his fingers, faster, and _fuck_ it’s hot to have him in his lap and limp against his chest and fucking desperate for it. Iwai’s patience is all run out, but he’s not giving up. He focuses, getting the tips of his fingers in just the right place, rubbing tiny circles while Akira tries to force him deeper. But getting properly fucked can wait until Iwai’s cock can take care of it. Iwai’s not giving up. He kisses Akira’s neck and nibbles at his ear and fists a hand in his hair and _focuses_ , hearing every little noise loud as a gunshot, until finally Akira cries out and falls completely into his arms.

Akira’s limp and shaking and doesn’t respond as Iwai strokes his back and mumbles something into his ear. He can’t wait another fucking second but he does anyway, letting Akira breathe. It’s not like it takes long before the kid’s moving again, shifting his hips with breathy sounds too exhausted to be moans.

“Yeah, yeah,” Iwai says, reaching between them to hold his cock steady. “Told you I’d take care of you, didn’t I?”

Akira doesn’t answer with words. Instead he lines himself up and impales himself on Iwai’s cock with a force that’s almost petulant, and Iwai would be amused if he had the mind to spare. As it stands, he’s gotta bite his cheek to stop from coming in one pathetic thrust. It’s good, good as hell, the way Akira takes him easily, wriggles on his lap, sighs in relief, and _fuck_ he feels good. 

Akira rides him. It’s too slow, way too slow, and he’s doing that on purpose. Iwai tries to push back, but he’s got no goddamn leverage in this position and all he can do is rut uselessly upwards. Even that’s got him feeling ready to explode, tiny movements that overwhelm. 

He lets Akira have this, for a couple minutes. Lets him catch his breath while building slowly, lets him recover enough to arch his back and toss his head and glower at Iwai through that black, gorgeous hair. Christ, what a pretty sight. Everything’s a pretty sight with this kid, really, but right now he’s all flushed cheeks and ruffled hair, panting through parted lips, and those hungry eyes cutting through it. The effect is intoxicating; Iwai groans and tries not to look.

Finally, he gives in. Finally, finally, _finally_. In one swift movement he pushes the kid onto his back and swings into place over him, without even pulling out, pinning him to the mattress and lifting his ankles up past his shoulders and fucking him hard. It’s amazing, it’s incredible, he looks so overwhelmed, fierce eyes going soft with pleasure, little yelps of delight coming out of his mouth, and it feels - god, it feels _opulent_. Shit, they oughta be on a king-size bed with silk sheets and one of those fancy canopy things. Akira should have gorgeous lacy lingerie for Iwai to tear through, but still be just like this, bent over backwards under grunting, sweaty Iwai, staining those silk sheets and rocking that fancy bed to pieces.

He’s going fast, thrusting deep, digging for something perfect. Akira’s nails dig into his back - he’s gotta be so fucking sensitive now, shit, this must be agonizing - hard enough that he’s sure he’s bleeding, that the kid’s got his claws in him and he’s gonna wake up in the morning with his own scars. Doesn’t matter, doesn’t matter, not when it feels so damn good, not when he’s _drowning_ in it, not when Akira’s tight and hot around him and panting and gasping under him and those wild eyes, open wide, there’s a touch of madness to them and it sparkles like a diamond.

Iwai can’t get a hand on Akira’s cock but Akira’s taking care of it, pumping fiercely, slippery-slick with his own cum. It’s too much, and Iwai closes his eyes, but that doesn’t really help. It just intensifies the sounds and the feeling, the fucking feeling of fucking Akira’s fucking gorgeous tight ass and making him fucking come, over and over and over, he - he fucking, he can’t, he, fuck, _fuck_!

Iwai stifles a shout into a deep, guttural groan as warm pleasure washes over him like dawn. It’s almost too gentle, but it’s so heavenly, he’s fucking an angel and feeling paradise. Beneath him Akira’s shaking, rapid movements and wordless pleas, and Iwai’s still buried in him and feels every goddamn twitch on his softening dick and it’s too strong and too much and he still wants more. Akira grabs him by the back of the neck and hauls him down for a kiss that muffles his sharp cry as he comes one last time.

As soon as he lets go Iwai collapses, falling to the mattress so hard he bounces. He manages to turn enough to face Akira, ease his legs down out of the air, give him a much gentler kiss. Akira presses into it, and whines when it ends, which Iwai interprets as a request. He slides in next to him and pulls the kid close, pressing their bodies together, ignoring the mess they’re both smeared with. If his goal was to render him senseless, then there’s not much better evidence of it than Akira looking soft and sleepy and content, snuggling up against his chest. Those obsidian eyes’ll be back soon enough. 


End file.
